You Remember His Eyes
by Avenvia
Summary: He plays servant to every misfortunate man, woman and child's whim. To let one suffer would be like letting the world suffer, and he couldn't bear it.


Memories of each of Isaac's companions from during his journey.

I do not own Golden Sun

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><p><strong>You Remember His Eyes<strong>

You remember the stone corridor, how you shouted out anything you could think of down it, just to marvel at the endless echoes. The old man chided the three of you, yes, telling you it was disrespectful to Sol Himself.

But you were young, so young then, so you just exchanged looks and giggled at the reproachful words. It was all very grand and exciting; one look into your leader's eyes told you that he thought exactly the same thing, because for once his eyes were not self-consciously solemn, but rather bright and free.

They reminded you of the sky, then, and you remember thinking to yourself that you might love him if his eyes stayed like that forever.

He caught your eye, once, and grinned just like he used to. You would have given him anything he asked for right then, anything at all.

But he never asks for anything, not him. "Where have Kraden and Garet got to, huh?" He laughed, unconcerned, "I bet they wandered off down another corridor without us."

Mock indignation crossed your face, and you told him that you'd hit Garet for leaving the two of them alone.

"Garet's terrified of you, you know." He smiled, tossing his sunshine-yellow scarf back into position.

You smiled back, but there's an edge to it. "What about you? Are you scared of me?"

Before that it was a joke, but then his smile faltered, briefly, and both of you knew that the tone of the conversation just shifted into something else.

He took a few steps closer, "I'm not afraid of anything!" He exclaimed, laughing once more.

You laughed too, even though the lie was ringing clear in his words. You knew that he was lying just as you know it now; you and him feared the same thing, and it was visible by the fact that you stood in the belly of the forbidden sanctum.

He saw the look in your maroon eyes and he knew, he knew. Maybe he would have said something else, too, except for the fact that the red-haired one's shouting and hollering distracted the both of you, and suddenly the corridor was filled with plans and proposed directions again, and his eyes were hidden once more.

.

After a few minutes of hunting, you found him looking at his reflection in a pond.

Once upon a time you would have laughed at him, told him that Jenna's the one who's supposed to care about appearances, and that men should not spend their time preening in front of a mirror. Instead, you took a moment to absorb the fact that his face was smeared with dirt, sweat and blood, and there were things in his hair that looked terribly like pieces of dark, rotting flesh.

Even though the situation wasn't exactly the average for the two of you, he still looked a bit surprised when you asked if he was alright.

He hesitated, stained glove reaching up as if to brush the dark smears away, but then he responded easily enough. "I'm fine, just that stone-cleaver thing really makes a mess of those zombies."

You nodded, secretly glad that you'd been practicing your fiery psynergy that day instead of wrestling with those abominations physically.

Perhaps he saw the disgust on your face reflected in the pool, because suddenly he was savagely raking his hands through his hair, trying to restrain the repulsed look as he did so.

You offered to help, but he told you with a hint of sharpness that there was no need. "It'll come off in a few seconds. Besides, we both have to get used to stuff like this."

He was splashing water on his face quickly, blinking when it got into his eyes. You remember how he clawed at them, trying to hide the fact that the intrusion was making them red and tearful with the irritation.

"Just give me a minute to clean up and I'll be good as new." He said, and you wondered if you'd be so calm in his place. If you were covered in foul-smelling gore and stinking mud, with no clean clothes to change into, would you scream and cry with the repugnancy of it all?

You hoped not, but reasoned with yourself that it didn't matter so much with you, because he's the leader and you're not. That fact never again made your mouth dry and sour, not after you'd seen the wild look in his blue eyes as he wiped furiously at his face and hair and clothes.

"I hope Jenna and Kraden are grateful for this." You said as a feeble attempt at light-heartedness as you prepared to turn back to your camp.

Isaac laughed, even though you both knew it wasn't funny, and his laugh sounded a bit off. You've known him all your life, but you couldn't quite establish _why _his laugh sounded strange, just that it did.

Maybe you'd have asked him if he was alright, for the second time, but right then he dips his entire head in the water in some desperate attempt to purge himself. You knew it was a dismissal, so you turned and left your leader to himself.

.

You weren't sure what you expected to see when you woke up, but somehow it was surprising to find that you were in a small, clean bed with a real roof over your head. It was even more surprising to see your leader sitting to the side, head in his hands.

You realised that he was asleep, and though you instantly promised to yourself that you wouldn't wake him, the sound of shifting bedding made him jerk awake comically.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep," he mumbled in a rush, twisting his dirty yellow scarf in his hands nervously, as if he was expecting you to be furious at this moment of weakness.

You blinked; you'd never seen him, with his intelligent, cerulean eyes and unruly hair, seem anything other than supremely confident and sure of himself before. Even at the tender age of fifteen you understood that everyone has doubts and weaknesses, but somehow 'everyone' had never applied to him.

Before that moment the only hints that Isaac was still a young man of seventeen was the way that sometimes Garet's eyes slid to him in concern whenever he saw Isaac staring ruefully at the blood and mud stains on his clothes and flesh, and those were easy to ignore.

But right then his eyes were wide and exposed, like the barren land of snow that you learned to hate in such a short amount of time – because it's cold and you were used to the long, warm afternoons of Kalay with its bright sun and puffy clouds, not this harsh wind that bites at your vulnerable cheeks and fingers – and you couldn't bring yourself to see him as a boy that fell asleep, so you changed the subject.

He seemed relieved, and you thought to yourself that you'd done the right thing, as he answered the question. "Garet and Mia decided to go back to the lighthouse to get more of that water. We used everything we had in that bottle on you, after you fainted."

You blushed deeply, ashamed of your own weakness. You remember that it hadn't been the frantic, tense battle with Saturos to defeat you, but instead one of those brutish bear-like monsters that took such delight in ambushing the party. You remember that you were within eyesight of Imil when it attacked, but you can't remember anything after its clawed arm shot out and savagely clubbed you across the head.

You could have died, then, and by the look on your leader's face you knew that he understood that too.

"Mia healed you up really well," he explained hurriedly, trying to ward off thoughts of that final certainty, death. "You'll be good as new by the end of today."

You nodded, trying to look as sure as him. You wished that you were a bit more like him; stronger and taller with eyes that never faltered. But you cannot be him, so you understood that the only thing you can do is make sure that in your eyes he is never anything less than what he seems to be now.

He smiled, and despite your previous mental assurance you didn't need to read his mind to know that it more than a little bit forced.

"Will the others be back soon?" You asked, desperately wanting to dispel the wavering resolve you see in those bluebottle fly eyes.

He nodded, looking certain once again, and you relaxed.

"Hey…" you looked at him questioningly, but his eyes were unreadable. Not for the first time, you wished that you hadn't promised not to peer into his thoughts. "Promise me… promise me you won't scare me like that again?"

You pretended, futilely, that you didn't hear his voice crack a little bit, and that his eyes didn't look a little bit misty.

.

You were certain that you could go against your every vow as a healer and commit murder as you dragged him out of the dark, musty tavern and onto the streets of Tolbi.

The city was cramped and far too hot, even at night, and you longed for just a single blast of cold wind, like the ones you took for granted so often back home in Imil.

You pushed past the people loitering in the streets, pretending not to hear some of the more sordid deeds that they were conspiring about in slithering, thick whispers. Yes, you hated Tolbi.

As a distraction from the hedonistic idiocy all around you, you furiously asked your supposed leader what, exactly, he hoped to gain from spending his night with lowlifes, slatterns and vagabonds.

You paused to give him time to catch up with you instead of being savagely pulled along. He stumbled forward and slung his arm around your neck, and you wanted to slap him away but you knew he'd fall if you cast him off.

"Don't I deserve, deserve, a little bit of fun?" He slurred, giggling, and his breath reeked of vomit and alcohol and you knew then that he could not be allowed to go back to the room in this pathetic state.

As you found a deserted alleyway that was clean enough to sit in, you told him that he's a fool and a disgrace to your cause. You didn't mean any of it, of course, but something about seeing him so dishevelled and silly makes you shake.

"Yes, yes, today I'm just another intoxicated young fellow wandering these all-seeing streets, but tomorrow I am the saviour of the world!" His voice rose in pitch at the end, so much so that the two people walking past at the time turned to look at you curiously. Maybe they would have laughed, or even said something, had they not seen the well-used mace that you keep at your side at all times.

You told him, with no little amount of savagery, that he must sober up and gather the remains of his dignity before returning to the others.

"So serious, so very serious," he tried to look solemn but his face wouldn't hold the shape, so he started laughing. "Don't worry, your glorious leader will be good as new in just a moment."

Good, you told him, and you still wanted to slap him. Good.

"I was with Garet too. Go and chastise him." He laughed, and your heart darkened again.

"Garet left a long time ago. He was the one to find me and tell me where you are. For the love or Mercury, Isaac, I am not your mother!"

Suddenly, those eyes were clear and sharp. His darker blue against your pale blue. Then he spoke with slurred clarity, "No, you are not my mother, but I must be your lord and guardian, your master and servant. Your father."

You didn't know how to answer that, your soul flinched away from your own hypocrisy. You wished that you could take all his burden and bitterness away, but you could not; you all had your own burdens to bear, it was just his misfortune that he had the greatest.

"We must win Lord Babi's favour with this tournament. You _must _win. Garet's actions will not affect that, but yours are the sole actions that do." You said it stiffly, wishing that you didn't sound quite so cold.

His hand reached out and latched onto a fold of your dress. You muttered that it was inappropriate, but his mind is too far gone for such trivial concerns. "But what if I don't win, Mia? What if I lose? When we fight together, we win, but now I fight alone and I don't think I shall." Perhaps he would have sounded pathetic, had it not been for the bitterness in his tone.

You seized his wrist, fingers biting into his flesh with tinges of icy psynergy. "You will win, and you will never say that again. Come, we're going back to the room so you can sleep this nonsense off."

"Yes," he mumbled as you pulled him roughly to his feet once more and slung his arm over your shoulder. "I'll never fail, never, never."

And he was quiet, scarily quiet, as you led him through the crowded streets of Tolbi.

.

Felix had told you about him before, of course, and always in an affectionate manner.

You remember how your heart was bloated with jealousy as Felix and Jenna would talk of the good times in Vale, before All This. They told you that he was the politest boy in the whole village, and that every mother loved him and compared their own son to him, much to their child's misery and envy. Felix said often that he would have hated him, had the younger boy not been his best friend and one of the kindest, bravest boys he knew.

You would have given anything to have been one of the children of Vale, and to know this Isaac boy like Jenna and Felix did. You would have swapped away all of your gifts and powers to have just one afternoon filled with the games and adventures those lucky friends shared.

Once, you asked Jenna what he looked like, and your keen green eyes did not miss the way her cheeks were painted pink by some divine force as she responded. Jenna said that he was tall – though not as tall as another friend of hers and Felix's, Garet – and a bit on the skinny side. She said that he had yellow hair the same colour as yours, and his eyes were bluer than the ocean.

You thought that his eyes especially sounded quite lovely, and wondered if he would be the one to rescue you from the clutches of Saturos and Menardi. You'd heard rumours on the road – during the rare times that your captors allowed the tired group to stop for long enough to hear local talk – that he was a mighty warrior, champion of Colosso.

He must, you decided, be extremely handsome and powerful, to have so much praise to his name when he was only a handful of years older than yourself. Yes, you were certain that he would save you.

Yet, when you finally saw him for the first time, you could not decide whether he failed to meet these lofty expectations or exceeded them. He was very small compared to Saturos, and he didn't stand with the dignity that the Proxian warrior wore so effortlessly. But there was something savage in his eyes – a dogged determination to win and never give up – that you admired when you watched him battle. He was a good leader, you could tell that much, for his friends listened to his every word without complaint or hesitation.

His eyes met yours, you remember, just a few times before the battle, and you thought that Jenna was not quite right about them. Perhaps in colour they were bluer than the sea, but in substance they had none of the sea's tranquillity; they were as piercing as two blue arrows, and you wondered if he too possessed the ability to look into people's thoughts.

You thought that he didn't say as much as you'd expected, either. And you wondered if he was scared as he stood facing two warriors with so much more experience than himself. You reasoned that for a long time after being kidnapped, you had been too scared to talk, too.

The last thing you remember before the aerie of the Lighthouse exploded into rage, pain and chaos was his blue eyes, and the fact that you became absolutely, inexplicably certain that his every act of rational leadership was little more than a theatrical performance.

.

The first real conversation you had with him took place shortly after you had set sail from Atteka Inlet.

The others were busy around the boat or resting after experiencing the new, persistent, drain to their psynergy levels that the wings caused, so in the end it was just you and him standing on the deck, looking to the endless blue sea.

He still had his blade in hand after the latest monster attack, you felt comforted knowing that you will not be stabbed in the back by one of the increasingly-vicious sea monsters that roamed those waters with impunity.

"You're Piers." He said, pointlessly.

"You're Isaac." You responded in kind, scanning the horizon and trying not to let this angry young man distract you.

Jenna told you as they returned from Jupiter Lighthouse that he was not always angry, that he used to be sweet and gentle and one day he will return to that. But one look in his eyes told you that this boy – that's all he is, really. His age is but a minute compared to yours – will probably never be sweet and gentle again. Those surreal blue eyes had already seen things which could not be rectified, nor healed by any psynergy.

The truth is that even then you found his sharp gaze alarming, so you keep your own amber eyes locked onto the water that surrounds your little ship rather than meeting that simmering stare.

"You know, I spent a long time looking for your city." He said, neutrally, and you wondered whether he hated you for travelling with Felix and not him. It didn't make sense, of course, but you've learned in your many years that emotions rarely do.

"It's difficult to find." You agreed, trying to sound tranquil.

"I needed to find it. I needed to."

"Why?" You asked, though you were afraid of the answer. The answer you already knew, but didn't want to hear.

"A man asked me to. His life depended on me finding it, and I…" he trailed away, hopelessly, and had you not known the identity of the man you would have pitied this boy, this child.

"Lord Babi was living on stolen time," you said sternly, "it is good that you did not allow him to continue this manner of thievery. Remember; death is unavoidable and must not be flinched from."

You remember that he looked angry for a moment; out of the corner of your eye you saw his dark eyes darken, and you wondered whether he'd try to strike you. But then, his shoulders slumped and he was a boy again.

"You don't understand. I _needed_ to help him… I promised."

"We may be Adepts, powerful ones, but in the end we are still human, and prone to failing as well as succeeding."

You remember that after that it was as if every veil, every pretence fell from those blue eyes. You realised that everything about them was false, like the bright, bright armour of a dragonfly.

"No," he said, shaking his head. He looked at you once more and his eyes were empty; the determination stripped away. "No, please."

Lemurians do not feel such powerful emotions so readily, you knew, so you were not alarmed when the subtleties of what this boy seemed to be feeling escaped you. You would have asked him why he seemed so horrified by such a simple fact, but he backed away and disappeared into the bowels of the ship.

.

For the fifth night in a row, he was retching until his body had nothing more to give.

You have seen already the anger that resides in his heart like a churning sea, but you have also heard how he screams when he sleeps. Screams about broken promises and apologies. You wonder even now if he ever stopped.

You watched him dispassionately, pretending that you didn't see the tears he wipes away with the back of a hand. You remember wondering if, had you too played the hero instead of the villain, you would be joining him in this sickness.

He choked, shivering, but nothing came out. His body was weak and spent, though it refused to acknowledge that fact.

You remember how you looked at the pathetic figure, shaking in the snow, and how you were glad that you had sent the others away so that they could not see how one half of their leadership had fallen.

"How do you do it?" He whispered with his broken voice.

You asked him to clarify, but he insisted that you already knew what he meant.

Finally, you irritation allows you to answer, "I think of others, not myself."

His laughter was harsh and cruel in your ears, and you wondered why everyone viewed you as the monster and him as the hero. "I think of nothing but others. All the people that we've helped, spoken to, developed friendships with. I think of my mother, alone and without hope, and I think of Saturos and Menardi, who died because of my orders. I think of the people who would kill me, and how they wait for me in that tower, ready to leave me in unbearable pain for hours before they finally stamp out my life."

You turned away from him in a gesture that you are still ashamed of. "Just think of it as the thousands of people that you'll be saving."

"But who will save _me_?"

You turned back to him, dark brown eyes meeting clouded cerulean blue ones, and you understood that the reason that you stood tall and strong whilst he sweated and shivered on the ground was that you never cared if a young man was crushed by a boulder, as long as it benefited the greater good. Whereas for Isaac, the young man under a boulder would be all he cared about until that man was healthy and happy.

You remember realising that after all of this is done, you were certain that you would wander the lands happily enough and heroism would be a forgotten memory, but Isaac does not have that gift. The reigns of leadership are hard to give up, for they are both mastery and servitude, and the unity of your teams, your child-soldiers, let the two of you divide those aspects up. You were the lord of the group, the almighty final word that allows no refusal or arguing, whereas he plays servant to every misfortunate man, woman and child's whim. To let one suffer would be like letting the world suffer, and he couldn't bear it.

"Felix." You held his gaze, looking down at him as he knelt. His eyes were impossibly wide, and you tried not to remember the carefree child of your boyhood. "Save me."

Your tangled hair was damp as it slapped across your face, controlled by the howling Proxian wind. The time you took to peel it off your flesh was the treasured time you needed to compose a response.

You remember how you deliberately hardened your heart as you looked down at him, and how he did not even try to stand up or stop shivering.

"We leave tomorrow, at dawn."

You didn't look back as you walked away, though you were certain that over the furious wind you heard a sob.

Guilt, Menardi was fond of saying, is something for the lesser warrior. You took that adage to heart; what is one boy's weakness, doubt and fear compared to a village's, no, a world's?

As you returned to the warmth on the inn, knowing that – as all soldiers do – he would follow you soon enough, you thought that it is a good thing that no pity moves your heart; you care not for individuals, after all, only the collective.


End file.
